Today Me, Tomorrow You
by ukulellie
Summary: The boho's are just hanging out at the loft...but that soon changes when Maureen has an ingenious idea. Can they handle being each other for an entire day?
1. Bright Idea

**A/N: Hey everybody! –waves nervously- Well, this is my first ever RENT fic, and I really hope you guys enjoy it! HUGE thanks to Tegan, the most fabulous beta ever! And now, on with the story… **

It had all started as a regular evening in the East Village – all of the Bohemians (minus Mimi, who was working) had gotten drunk, danced on top of tables and been forcibly ejected from the Life Café.

Now, they were all lounging around Mark and Roger's loft, taking it in turns to sip the questionable beer Roger had produced. Roger was cradling his guitar to his chest, Angel and Collins were whispering quietly to each other, and Maureen and Joanne were making out on the couch, while an extremely awkward Mark was sitting on the armrest trying very hard not to look at them.

Around midnight, Mimi, clad in her customary sparkly blue pants, dragged the door open and slammed it shut with the heel of her stiletto – an entrance worthy of Maureen herself.

"Ugh!" she groaned as she slid into Roger's lap, kicking off her shoes. "Work was _exhausting_. There were _two_ bachelor parties, and Scarlett is upstate so I had to cover for her too. I'm dead beat."

Roger snorted and pushed her off his lap, replacing her with his beloved guitar. "Quit complaining. All you have to do is dance around in your underwear shouting 'Oww-ooot' over and over."

Mimi glared at him. "Dancing all night isn't all it's cracked up to be, it's _hard_. Besides, you stay in the house _all day_ doing nothing! You haven't moved since I left this morning!"

Roger looked affronted. "I have _too_. I went to the bathroom at one-thirty!"

"Okay, I _really_ didn't need to hear about that –" Mark began, but the others shushed him, eager to watch the drama unfolding before them. Mark scowled and went back to fiddling with his camera.

Mimi put her hands on her hips, and the bohos 'ooh'-ed, recognising her 'don't-mess-with-me' look. "Roger, you couldn't dance for five minutes without collapsing, let alone an entire evening."

"Being you is dead easy, babe," Roger grinned mischievously, a sudden idea popping up in his head. He straightened out of his usual slouch and tossed his long hair back, then strutted over to Mimi, wiggling his hips, earning a few titters from his friends. He stopped an inch away from Mimi and batted his eyelashes at her.

"Would you light my candle, baby?" he rasped, striking a very suggestive pose.

"I would…" Mimi said thoughtfully. She quickly grabbed Roger's guitar and her voice dropped down a few octaves. "But I have commitment issues. April! Oh, April!" She hugged the guitar close to her.

"Hey! I never said _that_!"

Excited with this newfound game, Maureen leapt up, eyes gleaming.

Joanne looked at her warily. "Maureen, don't you start –"

"Maureen, don't you start." Maureen mimicked. Joanne glowered at her.

"Oh, Honeybear, don't do this, don't do that! Don't make a scene! Work blah blah blah, money blah blah blah, _commitment_ blah blah blah –"

"_Pookie_!" Mark squealed in a scarily accurate impression of his ex-girlfriend. "I was completely _not_ flirting with that woman in rubber! I just gave her my number to be _polite_! You're my one and only Pookie, even though Mark is _so_ much hotter than you. Anyway, how about I make it up to you?" He wiggled his eyebrows in what was probably meant to be a suggestive manner.

Angel clapped her hands excitedly as she jumped up. "Close on Maureen," Angel said in a nasal imitation of the albino filmmaker standing across from her. "As she goes about being her drama queen self. But I still follow her around, even though she acts really stupid and she left me for a woman. Because…Maureen is my true love! Well, aside from Mr. Camera here." She held the 'camera' up to her face, making purring noises. Mark scowled at her, so Angel blew him a kiss to make sure she was forgiven. She was. After all, nobody could _ever_ stay mad at Angel.

Maureen pouted at Joanne, who still wasn't taking part.

"Fine, fine." Joanne grumbled as she propped her legs up on the desk. She pretended to light a joint and then sat back, pulling an imaginary beanie over her eyes. She winked at Collins and Maureen burst out laughing.

Collins grinned, squared his shoulders and grabbed Angel's wig off her head. He was determined to do his part justice.

"Hey honey!" he called to Joanne as he swaggered across the room in a very accurate, if a little over the top, impersonation of his lover. "I'm just so _tired_ after all the drumming I've been doing. But I still have enough energy to –" Collins bent down and whispered in Joanne's ear. Joanne's face turned a sickly green colour as she listened.

"_Collins_ isn't good enough for you, _Angel_ baby," Angel 'Mark' crossed the room, still clutching the pretend camera. "But I'm just what you need." Angel and Collins then began a very intense make out session, causing Mark, Maureen and Joanne to back away.

"Ew." Maureen wrinkled her nose, still speaking in her 'Joanne' voice. "Why are 'Mark' and 'Angel' kissing?"

"I dunno, Pookie." Mark put a hand on her shoulder. "But I think it's time I took you home."

"Excuse _me_," Joanne said menacingly. "If 'Joanne' is going home with anybody, it will be 'Collins'."

There was a sound like a plunger being pulled from a blocked drain as Angel and Collins turned to stare at Joanne. All of the bohos glanced around warily for a moment, until the hilarity of the situation took over and they all started laughing.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Mimi and Roger were still fighting.

"What do you _mean_ I have commitment issues? I _don't_ have commitment issues!"

"Please, Roger, you make _Maureen_ look like a devoted girlfriend."

"Oh yeah? Well…you…you slept with Benny!"

"Wow, great comeback, Roger," Mark said sarcastically.

Before Roger could retort, Maureen jumped up, grinning crazily. "I just had the _best_ idea!" she exclaimed proudly.

"What is it?" Joanne asked cautiously. Maureen's last 'idea' had resulted in Collins getting arrested and Mark being mauled by a lemur.

"Well, we all had so much fun pretending to be each other just now, so why don't we all try and be that person for a day – wear their clothes, go to their job, sleep in their bed…it would be so much _fun_! Plus," she added, turning to Roger and Mimi, "It'd give you two a chance to understand each other better."

Mimi and Roger glanced at each other thoughtfully. On the one hand, it could stop them fighting, on the other hand, none of Maureen's ideas had ever resulted in a good outcome.

"That sounds cool," Collins finally spoke up, and Angel nodded her agreement.

"It's a good idea, chica," she smiled.

"Hold up." Mark held up one pale hand. "Are you suggesting I be _Maureen_ for a day?"

At that, everyone burst out laughing. "That's it!" Collins wheezed between chuckles. "We _definitely_ need to do this."

The others nodded fervently. Mimi laid her head against Roger's chest, all thoughts of the previous fight forgotten.

Tomorrow, she decided, was going to be a very interesting day.

**A/N: Well, there you go! Was it good? Bad? Heinously boring? Please let me know! I adore reviews!**

**-Ellie :D**


	2. Roger's Day Owwooot!

**A/N: Guess who! Yup, it's me, back with another chapter! Wahey! I wanna say THANK YOU to Tegan and all of my fabulous reviewers – you make my day! And, for those forgetful people like me: Roger = Mimi, Mimi = Roger, Mark = Maureen, Maureen = Joanne, Joanne = Collins, Collins = Angel and Angel = Mark (that wasn't confusing **_**at all**_**)! Well, enjoy the chapter!**

**Roger's POV: **

I pulled a pillow over my head in an attempt to get away from the blinding sunlight. I had no such luck. Why did Angel decide to use _my_ bedroom curtains to make her new outfit? I hadn't slept properly in days.

Then again, I doubted that I would've been able to get back to sleep anyway – I was still dizzy from last night. Post-fight Mimi was always amazing, and last night she had been _on fire_.

After a few minutes I realised I wasn't going to be sleeping anytime soon. I sighed, rolled over and came face-to-face with a smiling Mimi.

"Hi there," I whispered seductively, hinting at some pre-breakfast fun.

"Hello, _Mimi_," she said pointedly.

I groaned. "I am not looking forward to this."

"Really? I am – I really need a day off." She picked up a magazine and began to flick through it.

I got out of bed and stretched, expecting Mimi to follow suit. When she didn't, I turned to look at her in confusion.

"Meems? You gonna make breakfast?"

"Mimi," she reverted to her deep 'Roger' voice. "Why would _I_ make breakfast? That's what I've got _you_ for." She turned a page of the magazine idly.

I stalked off to the kitchen, muttering to myself. Who did Mimi think she was? This was _my_ apartment she was staying in, _my_ bed she was sleeping in. Was it too hard for her to pour me a bowl of Captain Crunch? Well, if she was going to be like that, she could get her own breakfast – she wasn't a baby.

I shovelled cereal into my mouth as I listened to some odd scuffling sounds coming from Mark's room. Whatever it was, it didn't sound good. All I could hope was that it was nothing similar to the pigeon incident of '87.

After a while, the weird noises ceased, and I decided Mark was probably just being his usual clumsy self. So, when Angel emerged from the room, camera in hand, and wearing Mark's only decent sweater, I choked on my cereal.

"Angel!" I spluttered. "What are you _doing_ here?" And in Mark's bedroom. I willed the many gruesome images filling my mind not to be true.

Angel looked around in confusion. "Angel's not here, Mimi. She's probably 'spending time' with Collins." Angel gave a very convincing shudder and wrapped Mark's scarf around her neck. I secretly wondered _how_ Angel had gotten Mark to relinquish his scarf – the thing was practically a child to him.

Angel was looking at me oddly, and I remembered I was supposed to be Mimi, so I straightened up – how did people stay like this all the time? – and flipped my hair back.

"Oh yeah. Sorry. I must be hallucinating because _I'm a junkie and I'm too stupid to give up drugs_!" I shouted the last part in direction of the bedroom. Mimi gave a muffled grunt in response.

"Um, okay..." Angel, eyebrows raised, grabbed Mark's bike from the corner. "Well, I'm going to work. Alexi wants me starting on a new documentary." She gave me a long-suffering look before wheeling the bike out the door.

I stared after her in astonishment. Angel made a _very_ good Mark. But, then again, all you really had to do was walk around with a camera feeling sorry for yourself. Anyone could do _that_. Being Mimi was a completely different matter. I quickly grabbed some toast and a cup of coffee and Mimi-strutted back to the bedroom.

"Hey..._Roger_, I brought breakfast." I put the soggy toast down beside her.

No response.

"Mi – uh – _Roger_, wake up!"

"Leave me alone, Mimi," Mimi groaned. "I'm too busy being my conceited self to acknowledge you. Go light a candle, or something." With that, she threw the duvet over her head and began to snore loudly.

I glared at her tiny frame huddled under the blankets. I mean, come _on_! I never speak like that! Saying I'm conceited is like...uh...saying Angel's a guy. Okay, bad example, but you get the picture.

I shuffled over to the wardrobe, thoroughly annoyed with Mimi. I tugged at the handle, but nothing happened. Stupid piece of junk. I pulled harder. The wardrobe swung open with a _bang_, throwing me backwards into the bedpost.

"What the – _OW_!" I rubbed my throbbing head, glaring venomously at the wardrobe. I _told_ Mark we shouldn't've bought it from that crazy old woman on Avenue C, but did he listen? No!

"Mimi!" Mimi was awake once more, looking at me sternly. "Can't you just leave me alone for _one _day? And _what_ are you doing trying on my clothes? It's just plain weird! Go put on your own!"

"Oh, er, yeah. Okay."

I was out the door and halfway down the stairwell when the full meaning of her words hit me. Mimi was expecting _me_ to wear _her_ clothes? I glanced down, discovering that all I was wearing was an extra large Yankees shirt, thanks to last night's 'activities'. Wait, now I had to wear Mimi's _underwear_ too? Yuck! What kind of self-respecting guy wears girls' underwear? Okay, Angel does, but that doesn't count.

I let myself into Mimi's apartment, now dreading the day ahead of me. I quickly pulled open her underwear drawer and began rooting through it, realising that, had this been _any_ other day, I would've been dizzy with excitement. I pushed through the contents, cursing all of the thongs and other lacy items in Mimi's possession for the first time in my life.

At last, I found a pair of almost-boxers with 'I like boys' pants' printed on them. Which was most certainly true – not only did I like them, I also missed 'boys' pants' with a passion.

I then steeled myself and turned to Mimi's wardrobe, praying there was something in there that wasn't a skirt, dress or her dancing outfit.

Finally, after twenty minutes of searching, I managed to locate an ordinary-looking pair of sweats underneath a lawn chair and a box of handcuffs. I didn't have as much luck finding a non-feminine shirt, and I ended up wearing a black t-shirt with 'Love Me' written on it in silver sequins.

After squeezing into Mimi's uncomfortably tight clothes, I collapsed onto her bed, unsure of my next move. I mean, what did Mimi _do_ besides kiss me, drink and strip? I wracked my brains, but I couldn't come up with anything. I didn't really pay that much attention to her. _Oh_. Was this what I was supposed to be learning about? Couldn't Mimi just have told me? Heck, I'd be happy for any alternative that didn't have me wearing _girls' underwear_.

While I was contemplating this, someone knocked loudly on the apartment door. Who could it be? I didn't know Mimi had other friends...I didn't know _anything_ about her. I hurried over to the apartment door as fast as the sweats I was wearing would allow, and dragged the door open.

"Chica!" an all-too-familiar voice squealed.

Oh no. Please, anything but this.

Collins, dressed in full drag with Angel's wig perched precariously on his head, threw his arms round me in true Angel-style. Except that, when Angel does it, it's cute. When Collins does it, it's just plain creepy.

"Um, _Angel_, shouldn't you be out drumming?" I said, hoping he'd take the hint.

"Oh, I've been up since 5am! I've already drummed, made Collins a new shirt and cooked enchiladas! Here, try one!"

And, despite my protests, Collins shoved an enchilada into my mouth. I gagged – it tasted worse than that sock that Mark had dared me to eat after I found it on the subway. Collins was an _awful_ cook.

"Aren't they _yummy_? Anyway, I got bored, so I thought I'd go shopping with my Mimi-chica!" Collins clapped his hands excitedly. I backed away, frightened for my life.

"Uh, actually Col – _Angel_, I'm kind of busy –"

"'No day but today', right, Mimi? Come on, there's this _adorable_ skirt in Gap you just _have_ to try on!"

And with that, Collins half-skipped, half-pulled me out the door and onto the streets of New York.

_Someone help me._

--

"Mwah!" Collins blew a kiss to yet _another_ random person on the street.

"Angel!" I hissed. "Please stop doing that – people are staring!"

"Oh, come _on_, Mimi!" Collins bumped against my hip playfully – again, okay when Angel does it, downright weird when done by Collins. "You're acting like _Roger_! And, speaking of the rocker, how _are_ you two?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Was he going out of his way to be creepy today?

"We're fine," I shrugged.

Collins raised his eyebrows. "Really? Has Roger stopped having that _little_ problem of his?"

"I said we – wait, what? Mimi _told_ you about that?!" I yelped, attracting even more stares. How could Mimi _do_ that? I hadn't told anyone about her whipped cream fetish, she could've done the same for me.

"Of course you told me, honey, we share _everything_! And... since when do you refer to yourself in the third person?"

"I...uh...forget about it. Let's just go shopping."

Collins let out a squeal and began to tug me towards the nearest shop. I sighed and just let him pull me along...until I caught sight of the window display.

"Oh no, no way!" I stumbled backwards, twisting out of Collins's grasp. "Angel, you're my best friend and all that junk, but there is _no way_ that I am setting _foot_ in Victoria's Secret!"

Collins looked hurt. "Why not?"

"Because it's _weird_! Angel, you can take me _anywhere_, just as long as it _doesn't _sell lingerie!"

Collins tilted his head to the side, his eyes glittering maliciously. "Anywhere?"

I gulped. This wasn't going to be good.

--

Twenty minutes later, I found myself at the mall's makeup counter, my face smeared with every product the store had to offer.

Collins held up a hand mirror to my face, practically bouncing up and down with excitement. "Honey, look at you! You're beautiful!"

I snorted. Beautiful? I looked like a clown who didn't shave often enough.

"No, you really do, chica! Now, for the finishing touch..." he grabbed a set of tweezers.

"Angel, let's not be hasty here." I eyed the tweezers warily.

"Well, I can do them slow, if you want." Collins eyed me speculatively. "But it'll hurt more."

"I don't want you to do them at all! Arming you with tweezers is like starting World War Three!"

Collins pouted. "Please, Mimi? Don't you trust me?"

That threw me for a moment. I knew Roger trusted the regular, sane Collins, and that Mimi trusted Angel, but what about this scary Angel-Collins hybrid?

Collins took advantage of my momentary hesitation and lunged at me, tweezers poised. I didn't have time to get away before he had yanked a few hairs out. I let out a high-pitched scream. Man, that _hurt_! Was it some secret form of torture for women?

I curled up on the chair, my eyebrow pounding. I heard Collins issue a little squeak above me. Was I bleeding? I hoped so – that'd teach Collins _not_ to attack me with tweezers from now on. I glanced up at him, hoping for some comical expression of horror. Instead, I saw him with his hand covering his mouth, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

When this day was over, I decided, I was going to hit Collins over the head with a frying pan.

--

Needless to say, we left the mall after that, despite Collins's pleas to make my eyebrows 'even'. Hah. If he thought I was coming anywhere near him _ever_ again, he was sorely mistaken.

I stormed into the loft, cursing Collins, tweezers, and whoever had invented shopping in the first place.

I found Angel sitting on the couch, fiddling with Mark's camera and muttering to herself.

"Hey, Mark," I sighed, pulling on one of Mimi's jackets (the loft was now colder than it was outside, seeing as Benny hadn't had the courtesy to turn on our heat again).

"Hey Mi –" Angel glanced up and did a double take. "Uh, Mimi? What the hell happened to your eyebrows?"

"Angel happened," I said darkly, before stomping into the bathroom. Outside, I heard Angel laughing openly. I braced myself and looked into the cracked mirror.

I had to bite down on my tongue to keep from screaming. My right eyebrow looked perfectly normal, while my left one had been completely mutilated. And that wasn't the only worrying thing – since when had I had to stop myself from screaming? I was doing something I'd told myself I'd never do – getting in touch with my feminine side. It was scary.

"Hey Mimi!" I heard Mimi call from the other room. "Aren't you supposed to be working?"

No way. Absolutely. No. Freaking. Way. Girls' underwear I'll do, but never, in a million years will I dance at that club.

"Uh...it's my day off today!" I yelled back.

"Actually, Mimi," Angel replied, using her best 'bored filmmaker' voice. "They left a message for you – someone didn't show up for work and they need you for the 8 o'clock shift."

Oh, so the two of them were conspiring against me. Figures.

I looked at my watch. 7:47. I swallowed and unlocked the bathroom door. Time to go dance at a strip club.

There's something I never thought I'd say.

--

I walked through the smoke-filled dressing room, only pausing to stare at the scantily dressed dancers twice. I quickly knocked on the door marked 'Manager'.

An old, irritable woman came to the door. "What?" she barked.

"I'm, um, here to – uh, I mean, I'm supposed to be –"

The woman cracked an evil smile. "Ah yes, _Mimi_. Well, aren't you going to get ready?"

"I, um, yeah. I guess so." I shuffled over to a dressing table where a girl was applying copious amounts of lip gloss.

"Hey, _Mimi_," she smirked. Did Mimi tell _everyone_ about this? "How's _Roger_?"

"Fine," I mumbled. "Um, where's my…you know…outfit?"

"Oh, here it is!" she said cheerily, handing me a pair of pants that looked suspiciously like they were made of rubber. "Well, see you out there." She winked at me and sashayed off to another table.

I stared after her as I pulled on my pants, feeling very self-conscious in the room full of giggling women. I squinted into the fogged up mirror, trying to slick my hair down so that my eyebrows weren't visible.

After a while, the girl returned, looking ready to burst with excitement. "It's show time!" And, without another word, she began to drag me towards the stage.

_You can do this, Roger_, I thought to myself, _it's just dancing, that's easy…right?_

Then, the music started. I gulped and the girl pulled me onstage.

The lights were blinding and I couldn't breathe through all of the smoke. I was suddenly attacked by many of the lace clad dancers, all of them stroking me and striking poses around me as they sang. Well, this wasn't _so_ bad, I decided, what was Mimi complaining about? I thought this was pretty fun.

"Mimi!" the nameless girl hissed. "It's your turn!" she shoved me in the direction of one of the poles.

I was just in time to see the girl ahead of me jump into the air, grab the pole and twirl around it in a drool-worthy manner. Okay, that looked simple enough...nothing to worry about. I took a deep breath and launched myself towards the pole, arms outstretched.

And I would've made it too...except I kinda misjudged how far away the pole was and ended up hitting it with my head. What came next, you ask? Pain. And a helluva lot of it.

I heard someone scream as the music died down. Then my vision began to fade...was the room spinning or was it just me? Maybe I was dying. Wouldn't that be...uh, what's that word Mark uses? Ironic! Yeah, ironic. Y'know, waiting for AIDS to kill me and then dying by being hit by a pole. Hah. Death by pole. Collins was gonna get a laugh out of that one.

I chuckled to myself as the room gradually faded to black.

**A/N: Thus concludes Roger's eventful day as Mimi! Reviewing gives you that warm, fuzzy feeling that you get when you've made someone's day! Also, please let me know which character you'd like to see next, and I'll write their chapter ASAP!**

**-Ellie :D**


	3. Mark Cohen Needs His Stage

**A/N: Sorry sorry sorry! I know it's been a super long time since I've updated…I had the flu, I was on vacation, my beta is currently MIA…etc, etc. Anyway, I'm back now, and I'd like to thank you all for your fabulous reviews – they make my day! This chapter is dedicated to Edie, for just being plain wonderful!  
And now…Mark's day as Maureen!**

**Mark POV**

"_Oh, Mark!" Maureen moans, kissing me fiercely._

"_Maureen, I want you." I pull her close. "I _need _you."_

"_Let's take this into the bedroom." Maureen arches an eyebrow suggestively. _

"_Let's." I growl, picking her up and marching eagerly towards the bedroom __‐_

"Marky! Mark, wake up!"

I groaned and pulled a pillow over my head. Why did Roger always interrupt my dirty dreams when they were _just_ getting good?

"Mark!" There was a sharp, jabbing pain in my side.

"Go away, Roger." I grumbled.

"Nuh uh, honey. You gotta get up."More poking.

"Roger, if this is about helping you blow-dry your hair, I ‐" Wait a second. Roger didn't call me 'honey'. I knew only one person who called _me _honey...

"Angel?!" My eyes snapped open to find Angel, dressed in her drumming clothes, leaning over me, grinning from ear to ear.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Angel trilled, whipping off my duvet with a flick of her wrist. "Sounds like quite a dream." she winked.

I felt myself turning red. Desperate for a distraction, I asked the first question that came into my head.

"Angel, what are you _doing_ here? It's ‐" I squinted at the clock. "4 am? Angel, what could possibly have possessed you to believe I would benefit from being woken up at 4 a-freaking-m?" I asked, shoving on my glasses with a lot more force than necessary.

Angel shook her head impatiently. "I'm being _you_ today, remember? I thought I might as well get a head start! Nice boxers, by the way."

I blushed again as I glanced down at my _Donald Duck _underpants. "Maureen gave them to me."

Angel nodded knowingly. "I guessed as much. Anyway, honey, I've already sent Joanne over to my place, so you can head over to hers and Maureen's."

"Kay," I mumbled, shuffling over to the wardrobe.

"Here, take mine!" Angel exclaimed, taking off her shirt with lightening speed.

"Angel, what are you doing?!"

Angel snorted, halfway through the act of removing her pants. "Please, Marky, now's not the time for being uncomfortable. I _was_ at Maureen's birthday party after all."

I shivered. "I'd been trying to suppress those memories, actually."

"Sorry, sugar." Angel kissed my cheek happily and handed over her tight fitted jeans.

I huddled in a corner as I pulled on Angel's clothes, listening to her flit about the room as she sang a song about sharing thousands of sweet kisses. I knew who _I'd_ like to share thousands of sweet kisses with...

"Mark, honey, you're drooling." Angel giggled, wiping the saliva off my chin. "Do I look _that_ good?" she struck a pose and I realised she was wearing a worn pair of pink bunny pyjamas.

"I ‐ uh ‐ they were another gift from Maureen."

"Of course they were." Angel winked.

Face beetroot red, I reached for my camera bag. "Well, I guess I'll, uh, get going." I turned to leave, but Angel grabbed hold of my bag and pulled me backwards.

"Ouch! What the _hell_, Angel?!"

"I'm being _you_ today, hun. That means no camera."

Horrible, bar mitzvah-related images flashed through my mind.

"But I ‐ I can't ‐"

"You're gonna have to, sweetie. I give up drag, you give up your camera." Angel tightened her grip.

"But it's my _camera_." I whined, tugging at the strap. I mean, Angel was threatening to take away my _identity _here. Me without my camera was like Collins without his beanie or...or Mimi without the handcuffs.

"Well, honey, I know this is hard for you, but maybe you and your camera need to go on a break."

"Nuh uh!" I snapped, grabbing back the camera bag.

"Yeah huh." Angel grinned and snatched it back from me. "Now, Mark, we can do this the easy way or the hard way."

I eyed Angel warily ‐ she wasn't wearing her stilettos, but I didn't doubt she could still do some serious damage. Angel had been known to incapacitate the odd homophobe when she was provoked.

Sighing, I handed over the camera bag. Angel smiled approvingly. "Good boy."

"Yeah, yeah." I crossed the loft, heading for the door.

"Hold on, sweetie, aren't you forgetting something?" Angel looked pointedly at the scarf I'd slung around my neck.

"No _way_." I backed away from Angel, clutching my scarf. "You can't take Mr Scarfy ‐" I clamped a hand over my mouth, mortified.

"What did you just say?" Angel giggled.

"I...ugh, just take the scarf." I handed over the accursed piece of fabric and turned to leave once more.

"Marky!" Angel called.

"What!?" I growled, wheeling around once more. "What _now_? Do you want my glasses _too_?"

Angel's eyes widened. "Ooh, I hadn't thought about that! Good job, honey!" She then snatched my glasses of the bridge of my nose and put them on.

"Whoa," she blinked. "Mark, sweetie, you're blind."

"Shut up." I mumbled and headed once more for the (now slightly blurry) door.

"Have fun being Maureen, sugar!" Angel waved.

"Whatever." I replied, walking smack into the doorframe. "Ouch."

"Honey, are you sure you can see okay without these?" Angel asked concernedly.

"Oh, I'm fine." I said, blinking furiously. "I'll, um, see you later."

Angel raised an eyebrow. "Bye."

"Bye!" And I stumbled blindly out the door.

--

I let myself into Maureen and Joanne's apartment (Maureen hadn't answered the door since 1982) and felt my way across the living room to the bedroom. Maureen was curled up under the duvet, snoozing lightly. I started to back away, feeling like an intruder when Maureen rolled over and stretched out her arms to me.

"Pookie..." she groaned.

Without thinking, I ran (as fast as my blurry vision would allow) to her bedside. "I'm here, Maureen, I'm here."

"Come back to bed." she mumbled, burying her face in her pillow.

It was an invitation that didn't have to be made twice; I was in bed beside her within five seconds. I then realised I was in bed with _Maureen_ and that Joanne was going to rip my head off when she found out. I turned to get out of bed again when Maureen grabbed my hand and pulled me back.

"Mmm, Pookie, go back to sleep." she pushed against my chest.

"I, uh, okay..." I hesitated, before lying down again.

"That's better." Maureen rubbed at her eyes, before settling back into her pillow. I followed suit, trying _very_ hard to not relive my dirty dream from this morning.

--

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

The ear-piercing shriek wrenched me from another of my dirty fantasies with a start.

"What's happening?" I rubbed my pounding head.

"YOU!" Maureen screamed. "What are you _doing_ here? Did I ‐ have we ‐ oh my gosh, we _have_!" she clapped a hand over her mouth.

"No, no, we haven't...." I said hastily. Even though I _so_ wanted to. "I'm here for the swapping places thing, remember? _Joanne_?"

"Oh." Maureen blinked. "Of course. Sorry, Honeybear. Well," she practically jumped out of bed. "I'd better go get ready for work." she strode to the bathroom Joanne-style.

I stared after her. Maureen was a very strange person.

Yawning, I decided I might as well get up now, and I pushed myself out of the bed. My vision was still slightly cloudly, so I tripped over my own feet on my way to the wardrobe. Cursing Angel and rubbing my aching shin, I opened the wardrobe door and started pulling on a pair of Maureen's baggiest jeans. Halfway through the process, Maureen came up behind me and wrapped an arm around me.

"Oh, Honeybear, are you really going to wear those ratty old jeans?" she asked, speaking in her 'Joanne' voice. "You know how much I love you in leather." she pinched my butt, causing me to let out a little, very unmasculine yelp. Maureen giggled.

"Well, I've got to get going. We have that big Masen trial today." Maureen tossed her hair over her shoulder. "I'll see you later, honey." she gave me a peck on the cheek and swept from the room.

Feeling slightly dizzy, I pulled on Maureen's favourite pair of leather pants (which were, not so surprisingly, uncomfortably tight) and grabbed a granola bar from the kitchen. As I was chewing and attempting to think Maureen-y thoughts (i.e. be self-absorbed and have dirty thoughts about everyone I knew), I caught sight of a piece of paper taped to the fridge.

_To Do List:_

_-Pick up dry cleaning_

_-Go to sound check in the space at 9:30_

_-Write new protest_

I chuckled at Maureen's not-so-subtle instructions. I looked at the clock on the wall - 9:15. I swallowed the last bite of granola bar and headed out onto the streets, noticing how very cold my neck was feeling.

--

I walked into the performance space (after two failed tries of bumping into the wall) to find it empty except for one person, who was fiddling with the sound equipment. He glanced up and I recognised him immediately.

"Paul!" I called out, waving.

"Mark?" he squinted at me. "How come you're not wearing your glasses?"

"No, no, not Mark." I replied, trying to exude Maureen vibes. "He's my ex-boyfriend. I'm Maureen Johnson." I shook his hand eagerly.

Paul shook my hand confusedly. "But...I've met Maureen...at Life Support a few weeks ago...and then she asked me to come fix her sound equipment..." How often did Maureen break that stuff?

"Oh, yeah, well, that was me!" I said, waving my hands around in a dramatic fashion. "And here I am again!"

Paul shook his head. "But I -"

"Let's get this show on the road." I clapped my hands and mounted the stage, trying not to think about how stupid I must look.

"Um, okay," Paul straightened up, looking frightened for his life. "Well, the samples aren't delaying, like, ahem, you told me on the phone. I just can't seem to find the problem..." he turned his attention back to the equipment, flicking random switches.

"Uh...I'll just, uh, sing stuff, I guess." I scratched my head, trying to think of a song.

"Uhm..._You can dance, you can ji-ive, having the time of your li-ife_." the digital delay beside me started to spark.

"Oh, it's fine, they often do that." Paul assured me.

"Oh...okay...uhm...Ooh_, see that girl, watch that scene, diggin' the dancing queen_." the digital delay promptly burst into flames. "AHH!" I squealed, shielding myself from the flames.

"Oh no! I'll, um, I'll get some, um...water! Yes, water!" Paul, obviously not built to deal with emergencies, scuttled off, wiping his sweaty forehead.

I had to admit, it felt great being Maureen and not having to worry about anything but my own safety. With this thought in mind, I ran around screaming and doing nothing helpful until Paul returned with a large bucket of water.

"Stand back!" he commanded in his quavery voice, running towards the stage. I screamed and rolled out of the way, as Paul emptied the contents over the digital delay system. This sent huge sparks flying in all directions, before the digital delay gave a final wheeze and moved on to that great electronics department in the sky.

"I think you may need to get a new one." Paul said, dabbing at his forehead once more.

"What!?" I shrieked, launching into diva-fit mode. "This is my _baby_ you want me to replace! After you _killed_ her! _You _ killed my baby! She had a name, you know! It was Dorothy! And you _killed_ her!" I erupted into fake sobs, completely alarming the already freaked-out Paul.

"Well, um, Maureen, I know it's hard when you lose something, er, _someone _you care about..." Paul began, switching to his 'Life Support' tone.

"She wasn't just a someone! I _loved_ Dorothy! And now I need to buy a REPLACEMENT!?" I wailed.

Paul sighed. "I guess my job insurance could cover the cost of repairs..."

I squealed and threw my arms around the poor man. "Thanks so _much,_ Paul! Dorothy will _live_ because of you! You're a hero!"

"Just doing my job." Paul shrugged.

"Well, good job!" I patted his head and looked at my watch. "Oh, look at the time! Thanks for helping me clean this up!" I blew him several kisses and practically skipped from the performance space.

Well, I had just embarrassed myself beyond belief and possibly scarred Paul for life. I made a pretty good Maureen, if I say so myself.

I checked off 'Go to performance space' on my list and then hurried away to find Maureen's dry cleaners (I hurried because of the weird looks I was getting - who knew leather pants attracted so much attention?). The place wasn't hard to find (thankfully, seeing as I was still half-blind without my glasses) - it was just around the corner from her apartment. From what I could tell, its entire staff consisted of young Italian men wearing leather pants i.e. Maureen's idea of heaven.

I entered the laundromat, trying to appear as if I belonged there.

"Um, hi." I smiled at the Italian man sitting at the counter. "I'm here to pick up some laundry - name, Maureen Johnson."

The boy's eyes widened and he looked me up and down in (apparent) shock. "Are you..." he gulped. "Signorina _Joanne_?"

I snorted derisively, tossing invisible hair over my shoulder. "Um, no, I'm Maureen."

He shook his head, appalled. "You are not Signorina Maureen! You are some small, pumpkin-headed man! You are trying to take someone's laundry?"

"What - I - no! See, I'm just _pretending_ to be Maureen today -"

"Get out." the young man said fiercely. "Whaddaya take me for? Some idiot?"

"No, of course not! But I _am_ Maur -" That was as far as I got before I was forcibly ejected from the laundromat. I scrambled to my feet, flipped off the glaring italian man and then ran back to the apartment, thoroughly mortified.

--

I collapsed into a chair the second I got home and pulled out my checklist. I squinted at Maureen's messy handwriting_. Write new protest_. How was I supposed to do that? Maureen had read my screenplays, she knew how awful they were. Oh, well. I sighed, took out a piece of paper and cracked my knuckles. This couldn't be so hard.

Okay, I was just going to go through this logically. First, I needed something to protest about. I chewed on my pen thoughtfully. Well, I didn't like Benny, so I guess I could protest about him...

Feeling motivated, I scrawled _Benny sucks _across the top of the page. Then I underlined it twice. And asterixed it. And doodled a little picture of me decapitating Benny in the corner. And then one of him being hung. And one of me in a Superman costume.

I was halfway through a dirty limerick about me and Maureen, when the diva herself walked through the door. I squinted down at the piece of paper, which was blank except for its title and my various inappropriate sketches.

"Hi, honey," she said, looking tired but beaming from ear to ear. "I brought us a little treat." she pulled out a bottle of champagne. My eyes widened.

"What's the occasion?" Was Maureen trying to get me drunk? Not that I had any objection...

"We won the Masen trial!" Maureen said, her chest swelled with pride.

"That's amazing, Pookie! You _completely_ deserve it!" I hugged her tightly, and she responded with a huge kiss on my cheek.

Smiling stupidly, I poured myself a glass of champagne and downed it in one - Maureen-style. Maureen followed suit, yawning slightly.

"Honeybear," another yawn. "I'm just so _tired,_ I think I'll go to bed right _now_."

"Oh, okay. 'Night." I poured another glass of champagne.

Maureen frowned. "I mean, these lawyer clothes are just so _tight_." she groaned.

"I - uh - I..." I swallowed, making an audible gulping noise. Maureen _knew_ I was still in love with her, why was she doing this to me?

"So...I'll just go to bed...on my own." Maureen winked.

Wait a second. I was Maureen. With Joanne, whatever made Maureen happy (within reason, Maureen still hadn't gotten that pet alligator) made Joanne happy.

"Oh, Pookie..." I called, rushing across the room and whacking my head on the doorframe. "Oww..." I whined.

"Honey, are you okay?" Maureen asked, alarmed.

"No," I pouted and rubbed the newly-formed bump on my head. Suddenly, I had a genius idea. "Pookie, there is one thing that could cheer me up..."

Maureen raised an eyebrow. "Anything to make you feel better, Honeybear."

I smiled, and led the way into the bedroom. Time to pick up where my dirty dream left off...

--

_Ring, ring! _

I pulled the pillow over my head, trying to get away from the annoying ringing.

_Ring, ring! _

"Ugh..." Maureen's hand emerged from under the blankets and reached for the phone.

"Hello?" she yawned. "What? Okay, okay, Roger, slow down. What happened?"

Roger? What was wrong? I sat up quickly, rubbing at my blurry eyes.

Maureen was nodding calmly. "Okay, where are you? Alright, we'll be there soon. Bye, Roger." she hung up and turned to me, her tone clipped and business-like. "Mimi's in the hospital, Roger said to come ASAP." she stretched, climbing out of bed. I couldn't help but stare at her.

I shook my head, locking away all inappropriate thoughts. "What happened to, uh, her?"

"Something about hitting her head on a pole at the Cat Scratch." Maureen said blithely.

I buried my face in my hands. Oh, Roger...

"Aren't you going to get ready?" Maureen asked, pulling on her pants once more.

"Actually..." I looked pointedly at Maureen's uncovered chest. Maureen laughed and shook her head.

"Honestly, Maureen," she said, buttoning up her shirt. "Mimi is in hospital right now! Don't you ever think of anyone but yourself?"

I scowled at my feet and hurridly pulled on some clothes. "Fine. Let's go."

Maureen took my hand, and led me out of the door. I looked longingly back at the bedroom.

Curse Roger Davis and his ability to get hit by poles.

**A/N: Well, there you have it! Was it worth the wait? Please review, you'll get virtual cookies! Also, I now have a poll on my profile so that you can vote on which character you'd like to see next!**

**-Ellie :D**


	4. Mimi's One Song Glory

**A/N: Well, it's me again! Long time no see! My computer's been acting up lately, so if you didn't get a reply to your wonderful review, know that it wasn't on purpose! (Fufuluff, I'm going to reply to your PM, I swear!) Anyway, the winner of the poll was Mimi! So, here you go: Mimi's day as Roger!**

Mimi POV

The sunlight streamed through the uncovered windows, practically blinding me. I groaned, using an arm to shield my eyes. Our new lack of bedroom curtains was pretty annoying, but I could hardly blame Angel - the dress she'd made out of them was _hot_. I rubbed at my eyes, making a mental note to steal Mark's bedroom curtains when he wasn't looking.

I stretched, yawned and smiled down at my sleeping boyfriend. He was sucking his thumb and making a soft little mewing sound. I grinned at the thought of my friend's faces if they found out the twenty two-year-old ex-junkie turned rocker still sucked his thumb. Or that he still carried around a small piece of his old security blanket, Noo noo. But I'd _never_ tell them that. Telling your boyfriend's deepest, darkest, most embarrassing secrets to his close friends is _not_ an effective way of getting him into bed. Trust me; been there, done that.

At this, Roger let out a huge groan and pulled a pillow over his head. I giggled, he was always ridiculously confused in the mornings until he had consumed a sufficient amount of coffee/alcohol.

After a few seconds, Roger rolled over to face me. His eyes widened slightly but then he smirked.

"Hi there." Oh, so it was one of _those _mornings.

"Hello, _Mimi_," I said pointedly. It was _my_ turn to be the lazy, sex-addict today, after all.

His face fell and he groaned. "I am _not_ looking forward to this."

I flashed him a smile. "Really? I am - I really need a day off." Let _him_ see what it's like to be the underage stripper of the group.

I picked up a discarded magazine from the floor and began to read (well, I was really just looking, seeing as it was one of Roger's badly hidden playboys).

Roger got up and stretched before turning to me. "Meems? You gonna make breakfast?"

I grinned. Here comes the fun. I looked up at Roger, affronted. "Mimi, why would _I _make breakfast? That's what I've got _you_ for." I flicked a page of the magazine, fighting the urge to laugh as I heard Roger stomp off to the kitchen.

I flipped through the playboy before throwing it away in boredom. After all, I saw plenty of naked women every evening at work.

I flopped down onto the bed once more, listening in on Roger's conversation with Angel. Or did I have to call her Mark? This was already so confusing.

"I'm a junkie and I'm too stupid to give up drugs!" Roger shouted in my direction. I grunted and curled up into a ball. So far, being Roger was pretty good.

I squeezed my eyes shut as Roger re-entered the room and set a plate of soggy toast down beside me.

"Hey..._Roger,_ I brought breakfast." he said uncertainly. I didn't respond.

He tried again. "Mi - uh - _Roger_, wake up!"

"Leave me alone, Mimi," I groaned, poking my head out from under the blankets. "I'm too busy being my conceited self to acknowledge you. Go light a candle, or something." With that, I threw the duvet over my head, my entire body shaking with silent laughter.

I smiled even wider as I heard Roger mumbling about my conceit and where I could put it, before he engaged in what sounded like a battle of epic proportions with the wardrobe. The wardrobe won, sending Roger flying backwards into the bedpost.

"What the - _OW_!" he moaned, rubbing his head.

"Mimi!" I exclaimed, appraising his outfit - an extra large Yankees shirt...and nothing else. I felt an evil plan forming in my mind, one that involved my charming boyfriend wearing girls' underwear. "Can't you just leave me alone for _one_ day? And _what_ are you doing trying on _my_ clothes? It's just plain weird! Go put on your own!"

"Oh, er, yeah. Okay." Roger shuffled out of the bedroom. I smiled wickedly and settled back against the pillows, thoroughly pleased with myself. The last thing I heard before I fell asleep was Roger's horrified yelp as he realised what he'd be wearing today.

--

I was woken up two hours later by my growling stomach. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, pulled myself out of bed, and Roger-shuffled to the kitchen.

I chewed thoughtfully on my Captain Crunch as I surveyed the empty loft. Now what? I wracked my brains. I mean, what did Roger _do_ all day? Sit around in his underwear reading playboys? I moaned - there's only so many naked women a (straight) girl can take.

I shook my head, ridding myself of the bad images. Surely there was _something_ more fun and less life-scarring to do around here. I wiped my mouth on my pyjama sleeve and shuffled back to the bedroom, determined to find something _mildly_ entertaining to do.

--

One hour, 23 minutes, and 47.34 seconds later, I was sprawled on the cheap, termite-infested couch, bored out of my mind.

I had washed my hair, blow-dried it twice, eaten a bagel with some questionable strawberry jelly, tried on all the plaid pants in Roger's possession (14 pairs), thrown Collins's dying marijuana plant (which didn't really match the bathroom's decor) out the window, rated the hotness of the girl's in Roger's playboys on a scale of 1 to 10, and thrown stale cupcakes at the ceiling. I had, officially, run out of things to do. And it was only 10:48 am. Who knew being Roger was so _boring_?

I glanced around the loft, searching for some source of inspiration. And then I saw it. It was like one of those moments in movies where the light hits the object just right and you hear angels singing in the background. Propped up against the sofa cushions, glinting in the sunlight, was Roger's fender guitar.

Now, when I first started dating Roger, I realised that there are 3 unspoken rules you have to follow if you want the relationship to work:

1. No leaving dirty towels on the bathroom floor.

2. No mention whatsoever of the word 'April', whether it be the month, Roger's dead heroin-addicted girlfriend, or _April_ _Fresh_ fabric softener.

And number 3. Never, ever, under any circumstances, touch Roger's guitar.

I stared at the guitar, sitting innocently against the ragged cushions. So what if I touched his guitar? It wasn't like he was going to find out, I reasoned. With this thought in mind, I reached out and plucked one of the strings. I half expected sirens to go off and for Mark to drop down from the ceiling wearing a SWAT uniform. But nothing happened. Grinning to myself, I pulled the guitar into my lap.

Okay, so I was breaking golden rule number 3 of Roger code, but it wasn't like my dear, sweet boyfriend was going to die if he found out someone else had touched his precious guitar (maybe I was the teeniest bit jealous of his guitar obsession, but hey, he didn't hold _me_ the way he held his guitar, that was for sure).

I wasn't exactly musically gifted, so I just strummed the guitar randomly, singing (in my best 'Roger' voice), "I'm writing one great song before I - oh, _crap_!" I let out a little wail - my perfectly manicured nails had sliced right through the guitar strings with a loud _twang_. "Crap, crap, crap!" I danced around the guitar, trying desperately not to panic.

_Okay, Mimi, so you just broke your boyfriend's most prized possession, no big deal._

"He's gonna _kill_ me!" I shrieked, wringing my hands.

I knew that Roger probably wouldn't shriek if he broke his guitar, but I was kind of past rational thinking right now. I remembered that one time Angel had touched Roger's guitar - he went _crazy_. He probably would've killed her too, but he didn't - we've all seen what Angel can do with those stilettos of hers.

I took a deep, calming breath. Alright, everything would be okay, I told myself. All I had to do was find a way of repairing the guitar strings. Suddenly, I had an idea. "Duct tape!" I exclaimed, thrilled at my own genius. I could use the duct tape to stick the strings back together, and by the time Roger noticed, I could blame a drunken Collins. Now, where did we keep the duct tape? I rushed over to the kitchen and began searching the kitchen drawers. No success.

Then, I had an idea. I vaulted the couch and sprinted into Mark's bedroom. Feeling embarrassed, I dug through his underwear drawer (occupied mostly by tidy whities and Yoda boxers) until I located a dusty roll of duct tape. I congratulated myself on remembering where it was kept - Roger had said it was one of Mark's and Maureen's favourite - ahem - "diversions". I shuddered. Ew.

When I had finally gotten the images of Mark, Maureen, and large quantities of duct tape out of my mind, I hurried back to the mutilated guitar and began applying copious amounts of duct tape to it.

It was only after the 16th layer that I began to realise that it wasn't working as well as I'd hoped. Frustrated, I tugged at the tape...but it didn't come off. Panicking slightly, I pulled harder, but karma seemed to be out to get me today, and the duct tape remained stuck to the guitar.

"¡_Ay_! ¡_Hijo de puta_!" I shrieked, attacking the guitar in my frustration, which only resulted in ruining both the guitar and my French manicure further. I groaned as I looked at my chipped nails and then back at the scratched, duct-tape coated guitar. What _now_?

I felt the lightbulb turn on inside my head. Roger always visited that weird-smelling music store over by Bryant Park. Maybe they could help me fix his guitar! Thrilled with my own genius, I grabbed Roger's jacket and the (slightly sticky) guitar, and hurried out of the loft.

--

I pushed into the musty shop, clutching the guitar to my chest (I had been almost-mugged twice on the way over here, though why anyone would want _this_ guitar, I had no idea).

"Hey," I said, remembering to use my 'Roger' voice just in time. "I'm having a little...uh, _issue_ with my guitar."

The little old man at the counter peered over his glasses at me. "Let me see it." he tapped the counter impatiently. I rolled my eyes. I mean, it wasn't like he had anything _better_ to do.

I placed the guitar gingerly onto the counter. The man's eyes widened. "I - ahem - had a bit of an accident. Can you fix it?" I bit my lip.

The guy looked at me like I was crazy. "_What_ have you _done_ to her?" he hissed.

"Um, _her_?" I asked.

The man nodded. "You can always tell with guitars. I'd say this one would be called...hmm...Cassie." And _I_ was the crazy one?

"Well, I was playing it..._Cassie_, and I broke the strings, so I tried to fix them with duct tape, and then that got stuck..." I trailed off, shrugging.

The man tutted, stroking the guitar sadly (what _is_ it with guys stroking guitars like that? It's _creepy_). "I don't think there's much hope for her, she's too far gone."

Wait, so now the guitar was _pregnant_?! Music was beyond me. "Can you replace it, um, _her_?" I pressed.

The guy stared down at the guitar and then let out a low whistle. "Where did you get this guitar?"

"It's my boyf - uh, it's mine!" I said hastily. "Why?"

The old guy looked at me like I was insane. "Ma'am -"

"Ahem, _sir_." I corrected.

Okay, now he _definitely_ thought I was crazy. "_Sir_, this is a J Larson original guitar. There are only five in existence. It would take weeks to attempt to track another one of there babies down, and then there's no guarantee the owner would sell it to you."

Are. You. Kidding. Me. I had to take several deep breaths before I could speak again. "Can you find one that looks like it then?"

The old man grabbed a guitar almost identical to Roger's off of the wall. "This is the latest Adam Pascal design, ain't he a beauty?"

"Who? The guitar or - wait, never mind. How much for the guitar?"

The man twanged one of the guitar strings. "Well, seeing as you look pretty desperate, I'll only charge you twenty five."

"Twenty five dollars?" I asked breathlessly, digging around in my (Roger's) pockets. It was almost too good to be true.

The man threw back his head and laughed. "Are you serious? For _this_ guitar? I'm talking twenty five _hundred_ dollars."

"WHAT?!" I yelled. "HOW THE HECK AM I SUPPOSED TO GET TWENTY FREAKIN' FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS?!?" Okay. Perhaps I was overreacting _just_ a tad, but Roger was going to _kill_ _me_ when he found out about this.

The old guy rubbed his temples. "Okay, fifteen hundred dollars, but that's my limit."

I glared at him for a second before snatching up the guitar. "Well then, screw you!" _Very_ Roger, I complimented myself. "Now, Cassie and I are leaving!"

I turned on my heel and stomped dramatically out of the shop. Surely there was _another_ music store that could fix my guitar.

--

As it turned out, there wasn't a single music store in the whole city that could fix and/or replace the guitar. Did the universe go out of its way to try and get me killed by my obsessive rare-guitar-owning boyfriend?

"Dumb New York." I grumbled, dragging my feet on the way back to the loft. "Can't even do one freaking thing -"

I trudged across the street without waiting for the traffic light to change. A driver had to swerve to avoid me and he honked his horn angrily.

"Oh, go to hell!" I shouted back at him. I didn't really like what being Roger was doing to my temper. But maybe I was just stressed out from the whole you-broke-Roger's-favourite-thing-in-the-whole-world-and-he's-going-to-kill-you issue.

At last I reached the loft and pulled the door open. Angel (looking pretty hilarious wearing Mark's seriously unattractive clothes - and he _wondered_ why he didn't get girls, he could start by buying a normal pair of pants! But I digress,) was sitting on the couch, muttering to herself about 'soul sucking corporate organisations' and fiddling with Mark's camera.

"Hey Mark." I sighed.

Angel glanced up, squinting through Mark's glasses at me. "Hey man. Rough day?"

"You have no idea. Cassie died." I patted the unfortunate guitar.

Angel's eyes widened. "Man, I'm so sorry to hea - wait, who's Cassie?"

"Never mind. I'm going to bed." I groaned, dragging my feet into the bedroom. I collapsed onto the bed, wondering if this day could possibly get _any_ worse.

--

I awoke to the sounds of Roger and Angel talking about...eyebrows? Wait, whatever was wrong with Roger's eyebrows wasn't my problem, I needed to get him out of the house before he had a freak-out over his guitar.

"Hey Mimi!" I called. "Aren't you supposed to be working?" I felt bad about playing the strip club card, but I wanted to live another day.

"Uh...it's my day off today!" Roger yelled back.

"Actually, Mimi," came Angel's voice, and I was so relieved I felt like kissing her. "They left a message for you - someone didn't show up for work and they need you for the 8 o'clock shift."

I heard Roger shuffle to the door once again and slam it shut behind him.

I stuck my head out the bedroom door to grin at Angel. "I owe you one." I said breathlessly.

"You owe me several." Angel said matter-of-factly. "Now, you go have your nap. I'll see you when you're Mimi again." Angel winked. I smiled back at her and closed the door.

Suddenly feeling exhausted, I curled up on the bed, relaxing into oblivion.

--

_Ring, ring!_

I rolled over sleepily, letting the call go to voicemail.

_Sppppeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaakkkkkkk_.

"Um hi. Mi - uh - Rog - uh - Mimi...whatever. Listen, it's Scarlett from the Cat Scratch. Your boy..._girlfriend_ hit his head on a pole, and he...she's going a little coo-coo, talking about AIDS and some guy named Collins...it's a little weird. Are you even there? Am I just talking to your answering machine? Wait, I'm still talking to your answering machine...meet me at the hospital, we think he...she...has a concussion. Um, bye."

I groaned and heaved myself out of bed. _Only_ Roger would manage to hit his head off a pole while he was dancing. I rushed out of the apartment and down the street - after all, it was only a matter of time before one of the sluts I worked with made her move on Roger. And the last thing I needed was my boyfriend sleeping with someone while he had a concussion - what if he got amnesia and forgot about his incredibly gorgeous girlfriend?

Well, on the bright side, he'd be too confused for me to tell him about his guitar. At this thought, I grinned and began skipping down the street.

Whoever invented poles for boyfriends to hit their heads off of must've been a genius.

**A/N: Well, there you go! What did you think? Please review – you will be showered in virtual baked goods! Oh, and keep voting in the poll for who you want to see next…I think Collins and Joanne are tying right now. Also, I have some other RENT fics desperately in need of YOUR reviews XD! **

**Thanks,**

**-Ellie :D**


	5. And You Should Hear Collins's Beat

**A/N: Remember me? I want to appologize so much for the ridiculous delay! I've had some of the most hectic months of my life, and I also had complete writer's block with this chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it anyway! This chapter is expecially for amaXdear, who's been waiting for this for a long time! I hope it was worth the wait! I'll Cover Angel and Collins also deserves a mention, for suggesting Benny become involved :D**

**Enjoy!**

Collins POV

You always know it's gonna be a good day when you wake up to a lovely view of your significant other's rear end. I grinned at the sight of Angel (totally naked, I might add) rooting through her extensive wardrobe. Sure, it was 4 am and I was exhausted, but I didn't mind Angel waking me up...that was, as long as she - ahem - _made it up _to me.

"Well, well, well..." I smiled, my voice rumbling through the darkness. Angel squealed and whipped around, glaring at me.

"_What _are you doing?" she demanded, her hands on her hips.

"Enjoying the view." I gestured towards her, causing her to look down and shriek once more.

She grabbed a nearby t-shirt and covered herself up, her face an adorable shade of scarlett. "Thomas Collins, go back to sleep this instant!" she instructed.

"Not without you, Ang." I winked

She giggled and crept over to the bed. Sighing dramatically, she kissed me gently. I pulled her to me, deepening the kiss - it felt great to get my own way once in a while. A small smile on her lips, Angel broke my grasp and pulled away.

"_Angel_!" I whined, stretching my arms out.

Angel shook her head. "Sorry, baby, I'm being Mark today, remember? Absolutely no physical contact with _anyone_."

No way would I let her get away that easily, I vowed. Grinning evilly, I unleased my secret weapon (one of them, anyway) - my puppy dog eyes. "_Please_, Angel?" I pouted, and I could practically hear her say 'Aww!'

She hesitated for a moment. "It won't be _so _bad, sugar!" she said frantically, stroking my cheek. "If you're feeling down, just think of Roger dancing at the Cat Scratch!"

I admit it, that made me laugh. Hard. Angel eyed me with a bemused expression as I rolled around howling. "That _is _funny." I finally managed to wheeze. "I think I'll have to pay 'Mimi' a visit." I smirked. For a moment, Angel looked stricken, her motherly feelings for Roger instantly kicking in, but then she smiled.

"That's the spirit, honey! Well, see you later!" she trilled, grabbing her clothes and sashaying to the door.

"But, but -" I whined, stretching out my arms to her like a baby.

She rolled her eyes. "Nice try." she flashed me her winning smile, blew me several kisses, and twirled out of the room. I had to hand it to her - Angel knew how to make an exit.

I lay back down grumpily, sad I'd been denied the entertainment of watching Angel get dressed (or another activity that required no clothes at all...). Oh well. I might as well get some sleep - I had a big day ahead of me. Grinning in anticipation, I drifted off to sleep.

--

Blinding, white light suddenly broke through my deep sleep, burning my eyelids.

"Wha? Who's there?" I groaned, shielding my eyes.

"It's just me." I heard a familiar voice sigh, as they made their way through all of Angel's clothes and junk covering the floor.

"Joanne?" I asked incredulously. "What are you doing here? How did you even get in?"

Joanne looked at me in disbelief. "Collins, keeping your spare key under a fake rock only works if the door to your apartment is _outside_." she rolled her eyes. "A brain-dead monkey could break in here without any problems. And, Angel sent me over here, something about 'getting into character'." she explained, looking far from pleased with this idea.

"Oh, okay. Well, don't turn on the light next time." I grumbled. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm going back to sleep." I said grumpily, closing my eyes again. When Joanne made no move to get into bed beside me, I rolled over to face her. "Is there a problem?"

"Please tell me you're wearing underwear." Joanne begged, looking anywhere but at me. I laughed and pulled back the covers for her to see. "Perfectly covered up."

Joanne still stood there, glaring down at her shoes.

`"What _now_, Joanne? I want some sleep!"

"I... You stay on that side of the bed! And keep your hands to yourself!" she burst out, cheeks bright red.

I grinned as I realised what was wrong. "_You're _scared of sharing a bed with a guy!" I pointed at her accusingly.

Joanne's mouth fell open. "No! No, of course not! I'm completely -"

"Joanne," I had to bite my tongue to keep from howling with laughter. "I'm _gay_. With a capital 'g'. And a couple of rainbows thrown in there. You have nothing to worry about, let me tell you. Now, I would like to get some sleep." I rolled over once more, laughing silently into my pillow.

After a while, the bed dipped slightly as Joanne climbed in. I smiled with satisfaction, and allowed myself to fall asleep once more.

--

_Beep, beep! Beep, beep!_

I groaned loudly, reaching blindly for the 'snooze' button on the alarm clock. When I'd moved in with Angel, she'd _insisted _I buy one, so I wouldn't be late for work. That tiny piece of junk was the bane of my entire exsistence. Finally, I located the button - Hallelujah! - and the deafening beeping was silenced. I wanted nothing better than to curl up and go back to sleep, but I was _Angel _today, so I fixed a peppy smile on my face and jumped out of bed. "Ri-hise and shi-ine and give God your glory glory!" I sang loudly, skipping around the room.

"Hmm? Wh - what's happening?" Joanne yawned, voice thick with sleep.

"It's morning, sweetie! Another glorious morning!"

Joanne glanced around, confused. "But... it's still dark."

"And time for _someone _to get ready for work!" I chided, tapping her on the nose.

"Collins, what are you -"

"I'll have breakfast ready in a minute, _Collins_, baby."

Joanne's eyes widened in comprehension. "Oh! I mean, ugghhh, five more minutes!" she pulled a pillow over her head. Huh. I had to admit she was pretty good at this.

I pirouetted to the kitchen, humming chirpily. This wasn't actually too bad. It was kinda fun being up this early. I paused and shook my head, wondering if I'd somehow started chanelling Angel's spirit. "Who-ooh wants breakfast tacos?" I called.

"Mmph."

"Okay, lovemuffin!" I grabbed a frying pan and began cracking eggs. "Yummy, yummy, yummy, I've got love in my tummy!" I sang loudly, only to be interuppted by a loud scream from the bathroom.

"Collins! Baby, is everything alright?" I hammered on the door anxiously.

The door swung open to reveal a scowling Joanne. "I think we have an issue with the shower, _Angel_."

I blinked innocently. "What do you mean, honey?" Oops. I guess I'd forgotten to tell Joanne about the screwed up shower.

Joanne gritted her teeth. "I _mean_, our shower head is spewing what I'm pretty sure is excrement, _honey_." she reached up to sniff her hair, and then recoiled in disgust.

"You poor baby!" I squealed, trying to hold back my laughter. "Why don't you towel off and I'll bring you your breakfast, hmm?"

"Okay," Joanne grumbled, pausing to sniff the air. "Hey, is something burning?"

"My breakfast tacos!" I shrieked and careered out of the room. Sure enough, the eggs I'd been frying had somehow burst into flames and were spitting sparks in all directions. Panicking, I grabbed the nearest cloth, wet it, and threw it on the flames. I ducked, waiting for some sort of explosion, but none came. Then I heard a weird sizzling sound, and the kitchen was silent. I let out a triumphant cheer and pulled the cloth off of the frying pan. It had two, round, egg-shaped holes in it, and had been blackened from the fire, so it took me a few moments to recognise it. I gasped, completely horrified.

I was holding Angel's brand new cashmere scarf, the one she bought on Fifth Avenue for two hundred dollars, the one she spent months of savings on, the one she'd said she'd die if anything happened to it. That scarf. I just used it to save my breakfast tacos.

Well, crap.

I was screwed. The last time I'd destroyed an item of her clothing - Roger and I had used one of her thongs to pelt Mark with rotten oranges, snapping the thong's elastic in the process - she'd thrown a fit. I'd been sleeping on the couch for _two weeks_. Who knew what horrible things she'd do (did I mention she'd called the scarf her _baby_?) when she found out what I'd done this time.

Joanne chose this moment to walk into the room, still half-asleep, and paused to take in the sight of me, the ruined scarf, and the slightly-smoking breakfast tacos. "Whoa," she blinked. "Guess I'll pick up breakfast on the way." she grimaced, taking a swig from a shiny, very familiar flask. It would seem she'd found my secret supply of Stoli. "Bye, Angel." she stood on tiptoe to kiss my cheek, winked at me, and slouched out of the apartment.

I barley noticed her departure, all of my concentration fixated on the scarf. Maybe if I went to the store, explain what happened, asked to put down a deposit on a new scarf... I glanced up at the clock. 6 am. I had a couple of hours to kill before all of the shops opened. I fixed my peppy smile back in place, threw the accursed cashmere scarf into a cupboard, slapped on some of Angel's makeup, grabbed her pickle tub and marched out the door. Time for some early morning drumming.

I skipped along the street, smiling and greeting all the passers-by with a wide smile. Some smiled back, others give me scared glances, and in the case of one man, ran away in the opposite direction. Finally, I found a pretty respectable street corner, and plonked myself down. Not exactly a musical genius, I banged the tub experimentally. It sounded okay to me. A tall woman in a suit dropped a coin onto the bucket as she passed.

"Thank you!" I called after her. Grinning to myself, I continued to pound on the pickle tub, feeling pretty pleased with myself. A grumpy-looking man deposited another. My smile grew wider. At the rate I was going, I could make enough money to buy Angel a new scarf. I frowned in determination, whacking the pickle tub as hard as I could. Maybe things would all turn out okay after all.

--

An hour and a half later, I paused to count up all the money I'd made. Three dollars and fifty three cents in small change. Who knew this was so _hard_? My hands were aching and covered in sweat, and I felt like I was baking alive inside of Angel's tight-fitted sweater. Sighing, I picked up the drumsticks to resume playing, when I heard something that made me freeze.

"You'll see boys, you'll see bo-oh-oh-hoy's!"

Benny. Crap. I peeked around the corner, hoping that I'm just hearing things. But, no, there he was, in all his sweater vested, yuppie scum glory. And he was walking this way. And I was wearing a skirt.

Sometimes, I just hate my life.

I glanced around frantically, looking for some sort of escape route, but the street was flat and empty of hiding places. I heard Benny's footsteps grow closer. Completely out of options, I gulped, picked up the pickle tub and jammed it onto my head just as Benny rounded the corner.

_Just walk past, don't notice me, please, don't notice -_

"Angel?!" Benny exclaimed, incredulous, skidding to a stop.

"Mmhmm?" I said, hoping the tub will disguise my terrible imitation of Angel.

"Um, it's me. Benny?"

I let out little giggle. "Ooh, hi, Benny! How's Muffy?"

"She's fine..." Benny muttered, skepticism clear in his voice. "Uh, why do you have a pickle tub on your head?"

"Oh, you know!" I giggled again.

"No, I really don't." I could practically see the look of utter confusion on Benny's face. Awkward pause. "Hey, since when did you get so tan?" Benny blurted out, catching hold of my hand. "And hairy?"

"Um, I have _no clue _what you're talking about -"I attempted to jerk my hand away, but Benny had let out a gasp of realisation. I grabbed hold of the tub, but Benny, stronger than I thought he was (had Muffy been making him work out, or something?), let out a grunt and yanked it off of my head.

Benny smirked."And what have we here?"

"It's not what you think!" I squealed, attempting to shield my face.

"Collins, I walk down the street to find you wearing a dress, makeup, and Angel's wig with a pickle tub on your head. What do you _want _me to think?"

"I - uh - there's a reasonable explanation for this!"

Benny chuckled."I bet it's an exciting story." He pulled a polaroid camera out of his briefcase, and snapped a picture of me before I realised what he was doing. "Wait till the people at the office see _this_!"

"Hey!" I growled. "We used to be friends, remember?" It was taking all my restraint to remind myself that I was composed, forgiving Angel and that she most likely wouldn't

attack Benny and beat him to a bloody pulp.

"Oh, we still are. But, come on, man - you're wearing a _dress_!" his smile grew so wide that his face looked ready to crack in two.

"It's a skirt, actually."

That sent Benny over the edge, and he began to howl with laughter, slapping his thigh. "It suits you!" he managed to choke out, doubled over with mirth.

"You know, I have some drumming to do." I said, my teeth gritted.

"Of course you do!" Benny wailed. "I'll leave you to it!" And with that, he turned and started to hobble down the street, still convulsing with laughter.

"Yeah? Well, you have no hair." I muttered defensively, returning to my drumming.

--

Somehow, Benny had sort of ruined my 'drumming vibe', so after a few minutes I gave up and trudged back to the apartment. Now, what to do? It was still too early to go annoy Roger, seeing as the kid seemed to sleep for twenty three hours a day. And I knew from a past experience that Mimi did not appreciate being woken up before noon.

Ugh. I shuddered just thinking about it.

I glanced around the kitchen in boredom, before catching sight of Angel's cookbook. Aha! Perhaps I could make 'Mimi' a little treat before our day of fun.

Feeling giddy once more, I bounced over to the counter top and opened the cookbook to a random page. Enchiladas. That shouldn't be too hard.

Okay, ground beef. We didn't have any ground beef - what kind of vegetarians would keep ground beef in their apartment? Instead, I decided to mash up some tofu and drench it in soy sauce. There, perfect! The next thing the recipe called for was chopped tomatoes. We didn't have those either. I grabbed a packet of red licorice and chopped that up by way of a replacement. Now I needed some sour cream. Man, our fridge was understocked. We did have a can of regular cream though, so I decided to toss that in there.

I continued in much the same fashion, replacing almost everything on the list, except for corn tortillas. I waited impatiently for my enchiladas to cook, filling the room with a slightly nauseating aroma. I couldn't wait to see Roger's face after biting into one of these babies. I knew I should probably feel some remorse, but it was just too funny!

At long last, the timer pinged, and I retrieved the disgusting enchiladas from the oven. I bent to sniff them - they smelled truly revolting. Excellent. I grinned evilly, admiring my handiwork. I glanced up at the clock - 11:45 am.

"Time to go visit Mimi-chica!" I trilled, packing up the enchiladas and skipping out the door.

Look out Roger, here I come.

--

"Come on, chica!" I squealed, stumbling after a disgruntled Roger in my high heels.

"No! Leave me alone, Angel!"

"You're being silly!" I reprimanded. "You can't go round with your eyebrows like that! If I just even them out a little -"

Roger clamped a hand over his face. "No! You - you stay away from me!" he quickened his pace.

"Aw, Mimi, don't be like that!" I whined, working hard to conceal my grin. "Now, if you keep behaving this way, you're not gonna get the lollipop I bought you."

Roger turned to face me, eyes narrowed. "Cola flavour?"

"Your favourite!" I smiled innocently.

I watched a vein pulse in Roger's temple. "Mine!" he hissed, lunging for the lollipop I was dangling under his nose. But I was too quick for him, and I sidestepped out of the

way. He slammed right into a tall girl, his head resting in her cleavage. I exploded into Angel-like giggles at this sight.

"Uh... I... uh..." Roger stammared. "I... sorry... I..."

"You prick!" the girl shrieked, slapping him hard across the face. I winced.

Roger slouched back over, clutching his cheek. "I hate today."

"So, is that a 'no' to the eyebrows?" I asked innocently.

Roger shoved me, muttering something about frying pans.

Who knew being Angel was so _fun_?

--

Darkness was falling by the time I reached the apartment once more.

"Baby, I'm ho-ome!" I sang loudly.

"Ugh." Joanne grumbled from the couch.

"Good day?"

"Ugh."

I kissed her lightly on the cheek, and she tried her best not to recoil at my touch. I never knew Joanne was so squeamish around guys before. I yawned. "Mm, I think I'm gonna take a nap. Wake me if you need anything, honey!"

"Ugh."

I skipped to the bedroom, closed the door, and collapsed onto the bed. Getting up at six am this morning had seriously taken it's toll. I remembered the look on Roger's face as I shoved the enchilada in his mouth. Man, it had been worth it.

Still chuckling at that image, I fell asleep.

--

_Ring, ring! Ring, ring!_

My hand scrambled over the bedside table, searching for the phone. At last, I located it. "Hello?" I asked, voice thick with sleep.

"Angel! You've got to come here! Mimi! Pole! Cat Scratch! And the paramedics won't tell me anything! I -" Mimi gabbled into the phone.

I rubbed my aching forehead, trying to process this. "Whoa, whoa, _Roger_, slow down. Deep breaths, sweetie."

Mimi sucked in a panicked breath. "Mimi was working at the Cat Scratch, and she hit her head off a pole. We think she has a concussion. Can you get here, like, now?"

I kicked into motherly-Angel mode. "Ohmigosh! This is terrible! We'll be right there, honey, make no mistake!" I hung up before Mimi could reply, and went to wake Joanne.

Roger Davis, what have you done now? I grinned to myself. This had to be the best idea Maureen has _ever _had.

**A/N: Ta Dah! I really hope you enjoyed that! Reviewers get virtual cookies, and a big bear hug from Collins! Who could turn that down?**

**Thanks!**

**-Ellie :D**


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